Living after Death
by anythinggoes666
Summary: Hermione is tortured under Voldemort's will, before being sent to the past during her attempt to escape the prison. There, she meets young Tom Riddle, and does her very best to murder him before he can rise up to kill her again.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: The Beginning of The End

There was a thump. It was simple, inelegant, and far from unusual, yet it turned everyones heads. No one knew why- a hidden sixth sense, perhaps, or the tinge of extra magic in the air. A harsh gasp was expelled from the student body as a whole, twisting out of their lungs and into the chilled air around them, floating upwards even as the lump began to scream.

It was not a scream of shock, or even fear, but of sheer, unadulterated pain, and all but one froze in terror that a sound such as that could come from a still living being. The single male who was not reduced to stone stared at the twitching mass for a few moments before glancing up at the head table. The amount of blood on her- for the form was certainly female- was incredible. It had soaked entirely through her robes, and the fact that she was capable of screaming shocked him. Apparently, it shocked the professors as well, as all of them were still in a daze- though Dumbledore was beginning to rise from his chair. Inwardly, Tom Riddle scoffed. The concern on his face was laughable, such a simple, tangible weakness he displayed for the world to see. _And they call him the most powerful wizard of our time... _Nevertheless, he was the first person to respond (other than himself, he noted absently) and so Tom grudgingly gave him a particle of respect.

It was fortunate Dumbledore had decided to rise when he did, as several of the girls looked ready to either cry our or faint, and the boys didn't look much better. Before the students noise level could rise above a particularly loud murmur, the Professor had begun speaking at the podium. _And no doubt casting a mild calming spell on the entire great hall,_ Riddle thought to himself.

"Silence! Remain seated, myself and Headmaster Dippet will take care of this unexpected occurrence." He said calmly, though the haste in his footsteps as he approached the prone form spoke volumes about the danger of the situation. Headmaster Dippet, on the other hand, was still recovering from his shock and had yet to stop gaping at the girl.

Dumbledore had his wand out and was casting well before he reached the girl, her screams were either silenced or she had finally blacked out, and her form was being levitated towards the door that was opening of it's own accord. But Dumbledore's hasty spellwork didn't hide the blood trail fast enough, and even Tom breathed in more roughly than he had intended. She simply wasn't going to live after that. There was no way. The student body all came to the same conclusion, albeit a bit later than Tom, and turned their eyes away, not willing to see death- even of an unknown lump of flesh.

Tom's eyes followed her until the door slammed shut, cutting her limp form from his view. He was pondering what, precisely, could cause so much harm to a witch, or rather 'who'. Grindewald was the only option he could think of that smacked of the truth, particularly when her 'safe' destination appeared to be Hogwarts. Everyone knew that Grindewald feared the great Dumbledore, after all. The great. He scowled slightly. If he were truly so 'great' he would have gone out and defeated Grindewald already, instead of letting him ravage Europe. Yes, Tom thought, that fear runs both ways. It would also explain the spark of something unidentifiable in Dumbledore's eyes- was it guilt? Fear? Loss? Whatever it was, it mirrored the concern and pity within them, and undoubtably made the old man walk all the faster towards the infirmary.

The rest of the Great Hall was in deep discussion, the volume of conversation rising steadily. Tom heard Minerva proclaiming that the woman was probably on the run from an abusive boyfriend, and he nearly broke his concerned facade to laugh at her naivety. The Hufflepuff mudbloods were debating- the one twin claimed she came from America and had splinched herself beyond recognition, the other was on about how it was actually a muggle who Grindewald had sent to Hogwarts as a message. Abraxas, who sat across from him, also looked on with an upwards tilt on his lips, condescension fairly dripping from his gaze. He, too, had read Hogwarts, A History, and was well aware that muggles were completely unable to enter Hogwarts- they would be expelled, and quite forcefully, the second they came near the grounds. Tom did have to agree that the main thought had merit, however. It was most certainly possible that the girl was a message, with a myriad of meanings from 'Hogwarts is not safe from me' to 'This is how you'll look when I'm through with you.' With Grindewald- and so little information on either the Dark Lord or the mysterious girl- there was no telling.

Few people, at least in Tom's hearing, bothered to voice a concern about the girl's life. The Slytherins all determined it was far too Gryffindorish and the other houses were too caught up in the mystery of the spectacle.

At long last, Headmaster Dippet seemed to have recovered himself, and began speaking from his seat- though not before he had Merrythought cast a silencing spell over the Hall.

"Well, that was certainly eventful! The girl is no doubt on her way to recovery in the Hospital Wing as I speak, so I ask that none of you go by there and try to visit her- it might interrupt her healing process! I'm sure, in the morning, she will be fine and dandy! Now, off to your dorms, prefects lead the first years- oh! And the Forbidden Forest is forbidden. Go on, go on!"

Tom, yet again, marveled at the idiocy of his headmaster. Telling the entire student body exactly where to find the girl, and implying that she was going to be just fine and dandy after what looked like extreme torture was foolish at best. At worst, it would lead to a multitude of students out after curfew on their first night back, all of whom Tom and his fellow prefects would have to round up, which meant that Tom himself wouldn't be able to sneak in. He stifled a sigh, and got up to lead the new Slytherins to their dormitory. It was going to be a long night.

Dumbledore had been terrified when the small form had crashed to the floor. Hogwarts was supposed to be impenetrable, after all, and he started looking for the signs of an invasion. Then, when he had looked more closely at the girl, he had been scared for an entirely unrelated reason. The blood which fairly poured off her skin, and the screams... He knew it would haunt him for years to come. But she was still alive, and that was what pushed him to walk- nearly run- down the long aisle towards her, casting a sleeping spell, and a multitude of healing spells wordlessly while levitating her body towards the doors.

Time was of the essence, it always was with injuries such as hers. He hadn't had a chance to truly look at them yet, but her legs- both!- were bent in so many strange angles he wasn't even sure his and Relly's skills at healing would be enough. At an all out sprint, he reached the Hospital Wing in record time, or so he had to assume, slammed the door wide and placed the girl on an empty bed. The sheets began to turn red even as he shouted for Madame Relly to get as many blood replenishing potions as she could, and some pain relief, while he vanished her robes. If it weren't for his activity in the war against Grindewald, he would have vomited, or perhaps even fainted, at the state of her flesh. As it was, he had seen similar wounds, thought not on the living, he grudgingly added. This girl had an iron strong will to still be here, holding onto that tether of life despite it trying to pull away from her. He thought this as he ran a diagnostic on her and healed the majority of the broken bones in her left leg. He had begun on the fingers of her left hand, which looked to have been broken and mended repeatedly, before the diagnostic spell had finished its categorization of her wounds. This particular spell was one he had developed himself, and showed the damages to a body in order from most life threatening to least. He had begun glancing over it as Relly opened the girls mouth and fed her potion after potion. There were three dark curses on her, two of which he knew the counters for, and with a flick of his wrist her intestines were no longer twisting as though snakes and her eyes had ceased their attempts to leap from her face. The third was a variation on a truth serum, it appeared, but the girl had somehow managed to fight it, causing it to backfire on her and start causing her flesh to rot. It was, in short, one of the nastiest curses he had encountered, and without knowing it's incantation, he was hard pressed to do anything other than stop its forward progress. Scanning further down the list, he knew she had been raped multiple times, and that there were wounds carved into her upper thigh and on both wrists which would scar no matter the healing. Grimacing at the macabre bed, he vanished the girls sweater, leaving her in a simple tank top, so he could begin on the words carved into her pale skin.

It was hours before he stopped even to take a breather, and there were several scares where her heart had ceased to flutter, or the blood had suddenly started pouring out again, but she was stable for now. There was of course, no guarantee of her survival, but she was no longer at deaths door. Professor Dumbledore sat on the bed next to this woman- for who could go through what she had, and remain a girl?- for whom his respect had grown immensely the moment he realized how long this torture had been going on. It was not a matter of days, but weeks and perhaps months. It was disgusting, and he would be shocked if she still had her wits about her when-if- she awoke. But she had survived, and for that alone she deserved the world.

Who had done it though? His immediate thought was Grindewald, but pure torture was not his style... He preferred quick deaths, and quicker interrogations. Perhaps an over zealous follower? He could guess for years, he reasoned, but the only way to know was to ask the woman when she awoke. With that thought, he laid back on the bed and fell began to fall into an exhausted sleep. Then, with a jolt, he woke up, remembering how dangerous it was to leave a person in her state without constant watching. He rose himself up against the pillows and resigned himself to a night of silent vigil.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Waking Up

Every nerve ending Hermione possessed felt as though it were fighting her own body, and there was an ache that lay deep in her bones, but she felt comforted, and much better than she had before blacking out. It scared her. The few times she had known comfort recently meant she would soon be awoken by a naked man and be taken on a bed of soft silks while she screamed out her agony in a fair replica of a cry of pleasure. Tears began traveling along her face, as she strained to remain perfectly still, in the hopes that the man would let her sleep a little longer.

It was not to be. She felt a hand grasp hers, and squeeze it, as though reassuring her. She knew better, and began to open her eyes warily, fearful of who she might find. The men who played with her emotions were often the best torturers. They feigned kindness, offered comfort- only to roughly take it away before riding her as they would a horse, while whispering secrets of how her friends had died. It did not matter that she already knew the stories, nor that she knew the ploys- it hurt just the same every time.

When her eyes finally adjusted to the light streaming in from the window, she nearly passed out again.

"Professor Dumbledore? Am I dead?" She said, lightly.

"No, my dear. You are at Hogwarts, and you are safe," Dumbledore began, worried by the happiness in the girl's voice. Surely, he thought, she does not yearn for death, after all she has come through? "Would you mind telling me your name?"

"H-Hermione, sir. I thought... You don't know me?" Hermione's brain was racing at the possibilities. For starters, this looked like the Hospital Wing, which she knew had been destroyed over a year previously. Albus Dumbledore had died not two months ago, attempting to break herself and Harry out of Voldemort's torture chambers. Which meant...

"I'm afraid not my dear. You appeared out of thin air into the Great Hall yesterday night, and neither myself nor the Headmaster knew of your coming."

By this time, Hermione had pieced together that she was sometime in the past, and reacted accordingly.

"I'm sorry sir, but what day is it? I've been trapped by...the Dark Lord... for... A long time, now, and I only just managed to create a portkey out. I'm afraid he will be after me soon..."

"Of course, my dear. It is September second, and you are in the Hospital Wing after landing rather suddenly in our Great Hall yesterday evening."

"Oh, I'm sorry sir! I wasn't thinking... I only knew that...he... was scared of you so I thought I'd be safer here than anywhere else. I... I don't have anywhere else to go, sir. They are all gone."

The last bit of her speech was spoken with real pain, as it was the entire truth. In fact, the whole explanation was true, just with a lot of parts omitted.

"What is your full name, Hermione?"

"Dubois, Hermione Dubois I live-lived- in France, sir."

"I take it you are muggleborn... And you have no place to go, you said?"

"No, sir."

"Well, I am certain we can find a place for you at Hogwarts, my dear. It is, after all, one of the few safe places left in Europe."

"Thank you sir!"

"It is Professor Dumbledore, Ms. Dubois."

"Yes, professor, but I was wondering... Might we change my name? It is not that I... Well, professor, I do not wish to be tortured again on account of my blood, you see, and even here I am sure there are many hidden supporters of the Dark Lord."

"A reasonable request, my dear, and we shall need a cover story to go with it..."

"Yes, well, I thought that I could be a pureblood born in America who lived in France and transferred from Beubatons after Grindewald took over France? As for the state of my arrival... We could say that my family strongly opposed him, and he had a team sent to eliminate us, but my mother threw me a portkey at the last second, so I survived? This way, no one will question that I never go home for the holidays, and no one will realize that I'm not a real pureblood."

"Yes, well, that was quite well thought out. As for your new last name... Perhaps Franklin? They are fairly well known branch of purebloods in America, but they have so many relatives that a new name will hardly be noticed."

"That's perfect professor! Thank you!"

"There is still the matter of your recovery to discuss, my dear. Madame Relly believes you will be able to leave in a week at the least, and I dare say I agree. There is also the matter of your sorting, and your classes?"

"Well, I stopped school after my third year, when it became too dangerous, but I'm fifteen now. I was taking Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, History and Astronomy, but I think I'd like to drop Astronomy. I haven't had a real lesson since I left, but I've been on the run and fighting for a while now."

"And your scores?" Dumbledore asked, deliberately straying away from questions on the girls more recent history. He could see they haunted her, still, and he was willing to wait on her for answers. She would be locked up in the infirmary for a while with no one to talk to but him, and if that didn't work, there was always legilimency.

"Top of my class, professor."

"In that case, it will be far easier to persuade Dippet to let you in, he always had a soft spot for hardworking students...Ah! Before I leave you, I must ask that you take this potion, my dear."

Hermione opened her hand to grab it, but Dumbledore, with that twinkle in his eyes, bypassed her hand and held the liquid to her lips. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion, which only heightened the twinkle, before sniffing once and grudgingly swallowing it.

"A sleeping draught."

"Yes, my dear, I deemed it prudent after your... recent experience."

"Thank you." She replied sincerely, having been dreading sleep and the nightmares it was sure to spring forth. But in the back of her mind, the wheels had started turning the moment Dumbledore had glossed over her more recent history. He was, after all, currently in a war against the Dark Lord she had experience fighting. There was no way he was going to let that one go. Before she could think too far along said reasoning, she was asleep.

Five days later, Professor Albus Dumbledore was a very, very, frustrated man. The Hogwarts gossip vine was on fire- quite literally. One of the students, he was not certain who, had made it so that anyone who tried to write, speak or gesture of or about the mysterious girl (as none knew her name yet) would breathe flames for a minute.

Okay. So, maybe it wasn't a student. It may have been a very, very vexed transfiguration professor. But really, who could blame him? Said mystery girl was still a mystery! Even to the most prestigious wizard in Britain! He had tried patience. Then, he had tried to coax. When that had failed, he had tried legilimency- and had met with a wall so smooth and powerful he knew it was impenetrable without attempting to break it. He had tried veritaserum, had slipped it into one of her sleeping potions, which naturally led to her falling asleep and completely wasting the valuable serum! Well, that part had mostly been his fault. But still! Finally, just yesterday, he had tried his most compelling compulsion charms. And what had the witch done? She had thrown them back in his face! Actually, he wasn't entirely certain what had happened there, he lost track of time for a good hour, but that was the only possible solution that he could find.

So, as the esteemed Professor marched- his steps were too forceful for a mere 'walk'- down the hallways of Hogwarts watching as various students breathed fire, he was contemplating ways to break into the headmasters office. There was, he thought, still one good way to get past the girls defenses- if he could get the article to speak about it.

Headmaster Dippet was a trusting, gullible man. He always left his drawers unlocked, he never checked his staff's backgrounds, and he was very open with his secrets. All of these things made for fantastic dinner company, and for a highly deficient headmaster. Students got away with everything under the sun, and professors got away with even more. Dumbledore, of course, knew this. He also knew that the Headmaster had little in the way of warding on his door, and was therefore unsurprised when a simple 'Alohamora' opened the door to his office. He deftly avoided the booby trap that was intended to tell the Headmaster who had come through the door, and stepped across the thresh hold. The portraits of deceased headmasters turned their heads in tandem towards the swiftly closing door, but they saw no one. A couple made suspicious noises, but when nothing untoward occurred, they assumed that Dippet had forgotten something, then realized that he hadn't actually forgotten it as he opened the door. For another person, this may have been ridiculous, but Dippet had done so multiple times in the past, so the portraits were not reacting stupidly in the least.

Dumbledore stood by the door, invisible and silently watching the conversations. He had to hide a laugh at Phineas Nigellus's derogatory comments before beginning his search for the worn school hat. Upon finding it- who places a thousand year old hat on a window seat where the sun could bake at it all day? He cast a simple 'notice me not' charm on both himself and the hat, surrounded them in a bubble of impenetrable, soundproof air, took of the invisibility and greeted the hat cordially.

"How do you do, Sorting Hat?"

"I have a name, you know."

"I had no idea, in truth. Pardon my rudeness. I am Albus Dumbledore, and it is a pleasure to meet with you, Mr...?"

"Idont Reemember."

"Why ever not?  
"Can't even come up with a creative reply? Thats my name, you foolish man. For Merlins sake, Godric had a temper, okay? Just because he would have been placed in Helga's house... Just call me Reemember."

"Ahh..."

"Man of few words, Albus? I seem to recall you were an outspoken youth... So you must want something from me. What is it? You do recall that I am a hat, and thus have no appendages to do things with?"

"It is nothing material, Mr. Reemember. Only information."

"Then you should know that I am bound to keep the secrets- trivial and otherwise- from all parties who are not the student in question. I can not help you."

"Even if it is for the greater good?"

"That is Grindewald's slogan, I suggest you do not model yourself after him. How should I know whether what you deem as 'good' is actually good for everyone else? No."

"There is no way I could convince you otherwise?"

"I'm afraid not. Have a good day, Albus."

As Dumbledore summoned a smile and a cheery wave, he was considering all of the ways he could hex the thrice damned hat. To bring up Grindewald in that way- to insinuate that he, the pillar of the light would ever go down his path- was worse than unjust. He had not fallen with Gellert, or, if he had, he had not fallen nearly so far. It was the perfect icing on his cake for today, he had to admit. There was no way of getting at the girl directly.

He would have to wait, and watch. He would strike when she was at her weakest. Some part of Dumbledore's psyche, which generally went on ignored, snorted at this. _If you can not get to her after she has just broken free from months of torture and is lying in a hospital bed, I highly doubt anything you can do will come close to hitting. _It said softly, if cruelly. But as per usual, Dumbledore ignored it and moved another piece on his mental chess board.

A/N: Thank you for reading :) please review!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Beginning to Move

If there was one thing Hermione never understood, it was how teachers just expected their students to know their worst fears prior to facing a bogart. Certainly a person could hazard a guess at what it would be, but in most cases, the person has never actually come into contact with their fears, and thus would hardly be capable of ranking them. Had she known in her third year that her fear would be failing a test, she would have been far more capable of facing the bogart without flinching. Part of the horror of the bogart was that one never knew just what was coming at them, and the shock of it added to the terrifying, all consuming fear, rendering the person frozen in a lake of their own worst nightmare. No. In order to defeat a bogart, one had to think on ones feet, and come up with the perfect comical solution in the shortest period of time, before you were reduced to tears, or fainted, or worse. That was the true danger of the bogart.

And yet, Professor Merrythought continued on in her lecture about the Riddiculous spell and how amazingly potent it was, and what a great invention it was by the great Newt Scamander. _Honestly, Merrythought must be infatuated with him or something! They were in a O.W.L. course for Merlin's sake, they had covered 'dangerous magical creatures' in third year!_ But, of course, the invention of the new spell meant the class just had to face them all over again to "demonstrate the potency of daring Mr. Newts spell and a bogarts complete incapacity to defend against it." Inwardly, Hermione scoffed. If he were really as 'daring' as all that, he would have found a charm to counter a basilisk or a chimera.

In front of her, and to her left, she noticed Tom Riddle had also omitted the word daring from in his notes, which were far shorter than the monologue of language Professor Merrythought had thrown at them. _Of course_, she thought, _the only other person in the room who realizes what a waste of a lesson this is, is an evil git. _Not that she ever gave him the impression that she was anything less than enthralled by him, as that would be stupid. But in her thoughts, she was free to be as scathing as she liked, and with an hour left in the classroom, she deemed it was time to work on her insults. You never knew when they would come in handy for a power play.

It was her first day of classes, and everyone else's eighth, and though she had yet to be sorted- apparently it had to be done at dinner in front of the whole school- she wasn't willing to waste another day in a bed doing nothing. Well, nothing wasn't quite the right word for it. She had been dancing with Dumbledore all week. His subtle verbiage and double meanings had her tangoing with her tongue, trying to catch him in traps which he deftly avoided, for the most part. She liked to think she had come out with the upper hand, despite his power over her as the only other person who knew her blood status, and his authority as a teacher. She had learned quite a few of his dirty secrets during the war, after all. It was funny, how the entire wizarding world followed this man as the 'Pillar of Light' when in reality, he had delved into a good number of the 'Questionable Arts.' Indeed, if one knew where to look, the signs fairly screamed out 'Dark Wizard going about as Light!'. The indent on his left index finger, where blood magic required it's third sacrifice. The unending growth of hair- the magic strenthening curse, which allowed him to eat all magic that wasn't protected by other dark magic, so long as no one cut his hair. (It was allegedly created by Gilgamesh, who had tested it out on Samson, the results of which can be found in the bible... Funny, how much witchcraft was recorded in that, really.) Perhaps the most tell tale sign was that dastardly twinkle in his eyes, one of the signs a wizard dabbled in compulsion magics.

_Not that compulsion magics are necessarily evil, _added Hermione thoughtfully aware that she had used them in the past, _but the approximate diameter and shape (a three pronged star) implied that it was used to invoke mistakes from and even the death of other people. Yes, it was fortunate for the Professor that the majority of light wizards were not nearly so well read as she was, or he would have found himself locked away years ago._

At the front of the room, it appeared that Professor Merrythought was finishing her lecture, and students had finally been able to stop their frantic scribbling.

"Does anyone have any questions? No? Then fifteen inches on the Riddiculous Curse and how it improves upon the Jesturvis Hex, due next Tuesday. And remember to think about your fear, as we will be facing a bogart within the next week!"

"Joy," Mumbled Hermione, as she got up to make her way into the Great Hall for dinner. "As if we didn't have anything better to learn than how to make our classmates shiver in fear..."

As she meandered through the hallways and navigated the moving staircases, her mind was thrown back to a time when bogarts had been used for just that purpose.

_ : She and her fight group- Severus, Harry and Lupin- stood by Molly, Arthur and a litany of other order members, searching about for the deatheater raid they had heard was coming towards them. They fanned out, searching the eerily quiet village for signs of danger. In pairs, they each entered a separate lane, keeping their wands out in front of them and flicking themselves invisible. She and Harry hadn't made it far along their stretch before dementors assaulted them. Harry had flinched back, and tightened his hold on his wand, but otherwise kept his cool as he summoned his patronus to join Hermione's jogging Otter. But as they began to walk away, the scene shifted and they were face to face with Ronald, swinging on a rope attached to his neck, and his lips were blue but moving, crying out for Hermione, his fingers grabbing at the rope, their promise ring glinting on his finger. She had gasped, and were Harry not there she was certain she would have collapsed._

_As it was, Harry had slipped a hand around her waist and turned them back towards the others, whose screams had just started to reach their ears._

_"Theres nothing we can do, he's dead, he's at peace, it's okay Hermione, it's going to be okay." He had held her, and whispered it in her ear, even though he, too, must have been dying inside, and she had nodded and faced away from the thing-then crack!_

_And it was in front of them again, but this time it wasn't Ron, it was Ginny, and she stood by Voldemort with a grin on her face._

_"Harry, Harry, Harry," began the monstrous snake, "Did you ever really think you could have her? She never told you the truth about that diary, boy. She loved me, always me, never you. She used you to get closer to me- and now-" but at that word, Ginny had moved closer to Voldemort, and bent down at his feet, kissing his feet at first before moving up to his robes, then his neck- Harry screamed._

_"No! Ginny! He's manipulating you, can't you see!" And Hermione had jolted out of her shocked gaze, taking Harry's arm and holding him back as he tried to grab Voldemort, who quickly turned to vapor, leaving only Ginny. _

_Ginny, who smiled viscously, before speaking in a proud, defiant voice. "I never loved you Harry. I never wanted you. You were nothing, nothing compared to the Dark Lord. He told me I could-"_

_"Harry, it's not real! Its- Its a bogart! Harry, listen to me, thats not Ginny, Ginny loved you. This is not REAL!" And with that she had waved her left hand- still holding Harry with her wand arm- and the faux Ginny had turned to a chair, which gradually faded out of existence._

_There were tears streaking down Harry's face, and he shuddered in her grasp as she twisted away from the scene._

_They had not known they were being watched, nor that they would encounter such specters again and again. Voldemort and his minions had invented a spell- and illusion- that let him broadcast the worst of their fears in the midst of battle. Many had broken, seeing the faces of long dead loved ones turn against them, or the remains of their loved ones crying for help._

_It was official. Hermione hated bogarts.:_

"Ms. Franklin? Ms. Franklin, it is time for you to get sorted." The voice and hand upon her shoulder jolted her out of her reverie. She had her wand against the man's throat and her hand over his own wand before he could finish speaking.

"Please, remove your hands, Ms. Franklin." Dumbledore's voice had an icy undertone, and Hermione blushed a bright red, glad that they were in a little known corridor, so no one else had seen her blunder.

"I'm sorry, professor. It is a ... habit. It would be best if you refrained from coming up behind me unseen."

"I will endeavor to do my best, Ms. Franklin. Now, it is time we were on our way." The jovialty was back in his voice, as though it had never left, and Hermione was smiling and clasping her hands as any nervous school girl would.

"Yes, Professor Dumbledore."

With that, the two made there way into the Great Hall, walking amiably along in what could easily be mistaken for companionable silence.

The small stool looked just as it had (would?) when Hermione was first sorted. Quickly glancing around, she moved her hand slightly, and it grew to accommodate her growth. Though the head table would still look down on her, she would be at the same height as the students on the benches. This was ensuring their first real sight of her wouldn't leave them subconsciously viewing her as 'less than them', no doubt as Dumbledore had initially intended, if his glare was anything to go by. Never the less, he walked up to the head table and nudged Headmaster Dippet, who rose somewhat reluctantly.

"Before you today is a new student, who has recently escaped from Grindewald's forces. She will be joining the fifth year O.W.L. students. Miss Hermione Franklin, please place the sorting hat on your head, and the sorting will begin." Without further ado, he sat again at his place, while Hermione reached down and pulled on the hat.

:Ah, so what have we here? He said you were a 'new' student, but I can tell I've sorted you before...:

_Its complicated._

:So I see, so I see. No matter. Let us take a look around... You have intelligence, oh, yes, Ravenclaw would be thrilled to have you... But no... You use your knowledge to overcome obstacles, not only for knowledges sake... Lets see, oh my! You have courage in spades, my dear... But you are not impulsive enough for Godric's house... Why ever did I put you there before?:

_I asked you to..._

:Yes, I see now. Hum. Not this time, Hermione. I believe... Yes, you are cunning, and you thrive on power plays and manipulations... There is nowhere else for you- better be:

"SLYTHERIN."

Hermione stood as the Slytherin table gave a half-hearted round of applause. _Naturally, _Hermione thought_, I would end up in the house of Dark Lord supporters._

As she had sat in on the Slytherin/Hufflepuff Defense Against the Dark Arts earlier today, a few of the students nodded to her as she moved to take a seat. A blonde haired boy who reminded her of Malfoy moved aside to give her room. She sat down softly, and looked determinedly at her plate, waiting for the food to appear. She knew that soon enough, she would have to watch every move she made, and every emotion that crossed her face. For now, she would go with 'Mysterious and Aloof', and hope no one asked her any personal questions. While she was good at lying, even on the spot, she disliked forming any type of relationship on pure lies. Even if that relationship was arch nemesis.

A/N: Thank you for reading :) This chapter was really fun to write, please review!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: A Bit of Tom.

The new girl-who-should-have-been-dead sat behind him in his Defense class, and he could feel her staring. Probably worshipfully. That was what they all did. It was disconcerting, as usually the stares had dropped to a less extreme level by the second week of school, but he did not mind, exactly. It gave him something to focus on other than Professor Merrythoughts pointless drabble. Who in their right mind gave a lecture on how amazing a person is, rather than the spell they created? Naturally, he looked like the perfect, avid student, and took precise- if succinct- notes, while watching the professor. She practically fawned at him. Eugh.

Finally, an excruciating two hours after it had begun, the class was over. He pushed back his chair, and fell in behind the new girl, who was leading the way to the Great Hall. Odd, he thought, how could she know the way already? But he pushed that aside when he heard her mumbling.

"As if we didn't have anything better to learn than how to make our classmates shiver in fear..."

Were he not the extremely proficient actor he was, Tom Riddle would have frozen and stared at the girl. He considered that option, before opting to pretend not to have heard, and he soon lost her amongst the crowd of students also exiting the moving staircase. He had already been planning on doing just that, once he figured a way out of actually facing the bogart himself.

So she was a player, and she was probably somewhat knowledgeable in the dark arts, if not proficient. Probably no where near his level, but above the average 'light witch' rating. He would have to look for the little signs, he would be in trouble if she knew too much blood magic- or, merlin forbid, legilimency. Though... Would she would make a good follower? He would have to wait, to watch her after the sorting if she was in his house- though, thinking like that, how could she not be?- and perhaps approach.

He sat across from Abraxas again today, if only to be certain that he could see the new girl get sorted. He liked watching their expressions as they sat beneath the hat- some smiled, thrilled at the hats descriptions, some winced, others swayed, and yet others grimaced. Hermione was not like any of them. Her lips spoke of a serenity, a calm acceptance of whatever was to come. It changed to a slight wariness- _so she didn't like people seeing her memories_- and then to chagrin. As her hand rose to remove the hat seconds before it spoke it's decision, her eyes had sparkled in amusement even as her lips set into a neutral line.

It was then that Tom knew she was in Slytherin. Ravenclaws always looked a little smug, Hufflepuff's smiled, but their eyes spoke of disappointment, and Gryffindors broke into grins nearly too large to keep on their faces. So he was right, she belonged here. With that thought, he gestured for Abraxas to move over slightly, so that the gi-Hermione, would sit across from him. _And so it begins._

She took the proffered seat, nodded at Abraxas, glanced at Tom, then stared determinedly at her empty plate. He smirked as he saw a light blush touch her cheeks. _So she's a shy one. Or, _he added absently, _attracted to him. Probably both._ Shifting so that he sat up straighter in his seat, he gave Hermione a cursory glance. Long, curly, completely out of control hair. A posture that indicated strength, without dominance. A slight figure. A dusting of freckles on her nose. Overall, he thought, not a beauty, but not ugly either. Sighing inwardly, he decided it was time to put on the charm.

"Hello, I'm Tom. Tom Riddle. Its nice to see a new face around here, we don't get many transfers." He smiled as he said it, and Hermione glanced up at him.

"Oh. Hello, I'm Hermione." Then she ducked her head to the side-but not down, so she wasn't planning on being subservient... Or, she knew nothing of power plays and was getting lucky- and a small smile played across her lips.

"So, you're in fifth year with us. What classes are you taking?"

"Everything but Divination, I found it... Lacking, at my other institution."

"We have a real Seer here, but its still a tricky subject, its not for everyone." He intoned, inclining his head in agreement, before kicking Abraxas.

"So, _Franklin_, are you a half-blood? Thats not a very pure last name." Abraxas said, while facing Tom, acting as though the gi-Hermione was of no account. Which, she wouldn't be unless she was insanely powerful or a pureblood.

"Of course not. I am pure. It is only that my origins are American, that confuses you. We are a very prominent family, but my father moved to France for work," As she said this, she sat up in her seat and looked pointedly at Abraxas. "Can the same be said of you?"

"None would dare accuse a Malfoy of such filth. We are direct descendants of the Extrusian line."

"Congratulations." Hermione retorted dryly. "We will all endeavor to follow your tactful, no doubt incestuous, lead."

It was a line below a challenge, and Abraxas- along with the rest of Slytherin table- saw it as such.

"If that is the price to remain pure, we will pay it."

"Then you will subject you're lineage to idiocy and insanity."

The food arrived before the pseudo-argument could get more indepth, and Hermione ignored Abraxas' attempts at continuation in favor of studying some unnamed book under the table. Tom watched all of this in fascination. The girl was clearly prejudiced against purebloods, but that could be changed fairly easily. What was strange was her admission of being pure. Why attack pureblood customs when you were a part of them? Although, he supposed it might be different in America, where there was a larger base of wizards to draw from. When Hermione made motions to get up, Tom followed suit.

"Allow me to show you to our common room?"

"Oh, I- thanks." She walked down to the dungeons with him, but the distance between them was greater than what girls usually preferred. Not that he minded. It was just... Strange. He was beginning to think few things would be normal with Hermione.

"The password is ambition, but it will probably change soon. If you need help remembering them, we have charmed papers that only Slytherin's can read."

"Thank you, but that won't be necessary," She said with a slight frown, before turning to the portrait. "Ambition."

The portrait opened, and the two walked across the thresh hold. He pointed her to her dormitory with the other fifth year Slytherin girls, and headed up to bed.

"Your bed should be farthest from the door on your left, have a good night."

"Thank you... But how would you know?"

"A man has to keep his secrets." He said conspirationally, adding a wink for good measure. Hermione flushed, before ducking into the door he pointed out to her.

Sunday morning, the letters came. When he saw the first owl fly from the ceiling, he had had to hide his smirk. Soon, soon he would see utter chaos. For on it's wing was the first of many black letters, telling students that someone in their family had been attacked- and killed.

It was strange, watching all of the people around him trade looks of pity and concern. Their eyes bespoke their sincerity, their pain in watching another's pain. It wasn't logical. Why feel pain for another person? If you feel only for yourself, it is far less painful, less wasteful. But they could not-would not see this. They were disgusted. They were sad, and sorry, and pitying. He was not. Oh, his mouth moved in all the correct social gestures, his lips formed words of tragic condolences, he grasped a hand here or there, but he just couldn't see the overwhelming_ point. _It was going to happen some time. A dark lord was on the loose, and had set his sights on England. No one should be shocked- but they were. Those whose families had died... Well, they were too weak to prepare themselves, any way. They were not worth caring for.

It was a fine art, the study of people. It required finesse, an instinct for comprehension, and eye for detail. To know a feeling, to interpret it does not require experience, only logic. To know hate, shown first by avoidance, then confrontation, the accessing looks and traitorous tongue. To greet anger by the clenching of fists and of jaw, the ticking of a foot or a finger, the hardening of the eyes. To judge pain by the level of screams, severity of convulsions, and death of mind. Yes. These things he could see, could understand- could feel.

But love? Concern? Empathy? The signs he knew well enough to write a book. The descriptions he knew well enough to fake. But to subject oneself to such paltry weakness, for no true gain? Foolhardy in the extreme.

In the interest of finding who else had lost a family member or friend, his gaze swept around the house tables, falling hard on Hermione Franklin. She had been remote all throughout the weekend. Now? Now her eyes, normally so hidden, were a lake of ice or maybe diamond, hard and unwavering in conviction. In front of her, there was a plate of dinner, which she was studiously ignoring in favor of searching the crowd. What for? It looked... It looked as though she were doing the same as he- watching others for their reactions, and judging them by it. With a shrug, he moved past her.

Edmund Potter was a wreck. Marrietta Prewett wasn't much better. Alphard Black was in a daze. Minerva McGonagall sat in her seat staring at the letter as if by doing so it would disappear. Tom waved his hand under the table, and was rewarded with a shriek from the Head Girl when her paper disappeared in front of her eyes. She was looking around at her housemates, but none of them spared her so much as a glance- too lost in their own sadness. He looked away, just to be safe, and met Hermione Franklin's gaze. She winked, before smirking and walking away from the table. His eyes followed her as she passed the Gryffindor table, and he saw a paper flutter into existence in front of the flustered Head Girl. Hermione didn't look back as she walked out the door.

A/N: Please Review :)


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five:

Hermione spent nearly all of her weekend before classes in the room of requirement. It was much safer that way. In the room, she could murder dummies, instead of the very real death eaters and dark lord wandering the hallways. When Volde-Riddle had risen to accompany her to her dormitory, they had wandered through several deserted hallways, and sorely tested her patience. She would, naturally, try to kill him, but not where all of the signs would point to her. Her wand arm kept twitching towards her robe pocket, and she hoped Riddle thought it was new girl jitters. He had been so scrupulously polite- it was irksome beyond measure to have no ready made excuse to fling insults at him. So the entire walk was spent in silence, the echo of their footsteps on the dungeon floor enough noise for both of them.

When Saturday morning came, she was more than willing to leave the confines of the snake den. Her nightmares had awoken a few hours after midnight, and if it weren't for the potency of her silencing charms, it would have woken her dorm mates too. She was shaking, and cold, but above all she was angry. Seeing Rid-Voldemort murdering her friends at night and going to classes with him by day was going to be stressful.

Untangling herself from the sheets, she made her way to the showers, both to wake herself up and to wipe away the remnants of her dreams. It had been Ron this time.

_: She, Harry and Ron were hiding out in the Forbidden Forest, hours after the school had fallen. The Death Eaters had erected a barrier over Hogwarts and it's grounds, making it impossible for them to leave. By fortune, they had been visiting Hagrid, and hadn't been called to the fight. They had been so young, then, only fourteen, and even Dumbledore wasn't willing to risk the Boy-Who-Lived in battle at such an age. That didn't mean they hadn't seen the dark mark floating ominously. Or that they hadn't run towards the castle- but by then it had been too late. Hermione had noted the signs first- most of the teachers dead, many of the students in similar shape, dark shapes wandering the hallways- it had been her who dragged them into the forest in the first place._

_She hadn't been fast enough. Lestrange had seen the fiery red of Ron's head, and set off a barrage of curses and hexes. Some of them missed, and she and Harry reflected enough to bring down the Death Eater, but Ron hit the floor first. With a desperate strength she hadn't known he possessed, Harry grabbed Ron and started running. Hermione followed, waving her wand at them, casting 'notice me not's' and disillusionments, charming Ron's weight to be negligible. Taking the lead, she sprinted towards Hagrid's hut, to find only cinders. She and Harry shared a look, before heading to the forest. _

_Ron's face was so pale. There wasn't any blood on him, he didn't have any broken bones, but he wasn't moving, and his breaths came in shallow and weak. Harry looked at her, pleading with his eyes for her to do something, anything._

_But she couldn't. They watched together, holding Ron's hands, Hermione draping herself over him, both yelling at him._

_"No, Ron, fight it! You can't leave me!" Came from Harry, repeated over and over, as Ron's breaths only got less frequent._

_"Ronald Billius Weasley! Don't you dare give up! Not now! I- I can't... I love you, Ron," Her voice faded to a whisper, but if he heard her, he didn't respond._

_Only fifteen minutes later, he breathed his last. Hermione was still holding his hand hours later, and Harry had turned away, his shoulders shaking, struggling not to cry out at the injustice of it all._

_"I should have known what to do... This is all my fault... Oh, Ron, I'm so sorry." She leaned on his corpse, but felt no comfort. Harry turned at the sound of her voice, and his cheeks were damp with tears as he took her into an embrace._

_"It wasn't your fault, 'Mione. It was Voldemort. The Death Eaters. But never you."_

_She learned what the curse was only a week later, in the library of Grimauld Place. A simple asphyxiation hex coupled with a paralysis charm. She swore then to never be unprepared again, to know more of the Arts- Dark and otherwise- than any other living witch or wizard. She would not let a friend die on her ever again._

_She liked to think she had succeeded in knowledge, but it didn't matter. Her friends died all the same.: _

She wished that the Dreamless Sleep potion had been invented, so she could steal some from Slughorn's stores, and not have to face the nightly terrors. Sooner or later, she would take the time to brew the potion herself in the Room of Requirement, but it took over a month and only a certain amount could be made at a time. It wasn't high enough on her list of priorities to bother with quite yet.

Instead, she told the room to conjure dummies that fought like death eaters, and it gave her golems that wore black cloaks and shot dark magic at her. How the room was authorized to do that was beyond her, but she wasn't complaining.

Saturday night, she opted not to return to her dorms. She would mingle once classes started, begin building herself a base... Or perhaps she would downplay her skill, so Riddle would underestimate her. He would catch on eventually, no doubt. But in the meantime, it wouldn't help to tip the scales slightly in her favor.

When the letters arrived at the table, she had been surrounded by memories. But it was morning, and she refused to dwell on them during the day. Instead, she looked around the room, identifying those whose shoulders fell in wracking sobs, those who looked as though unbearable weights had descended upon them, those who were lightheaded in relief, and those who looked pleased. Mentally starring every person who wore a smile or who looked precariously close to breaking, her eyes fell on Riddle. He was sitting hunched slightly, consoling Black with what she could assume were empty words. His eyes, too, searched the crowd, alighting on those who felt the most sorrow, and particularly those from Gryffindor table. She saw his hand twitch under the table and heard a cry of outrage from her old head of house.

_He couldn't help but rub it in, push her a little further over the edge. Evil, psychopathic, sadistic bastard. _Rather than voice her thoughts- a dangerous gamble at a table where he was so stridently worshiped- she winked at him as she rose from the bench, and permanently transfigured a feather into an exact replica of the letter he banished from Minerva's seat, floating it to her anonymously. _Take that, Riddle._

Her first class was Potions with Slughorn, she noted unenthusiastically as she looked at her time table. She was not looking forward to being collected, again. Why that man deemed it necessary to meet with the best duelers of a war in the middle of a war was beyond her. Foraging connections that would be broken in a battle faster than you can say _Avada Kedavra_ was pointless tomfoolery, and had set a target onto his back from both his own side and Voldemort's. Each of his 'gatherings' had been a perfect opportunity to strike at the heart of the Order, and she as well as others had told him so multiple times. Those who didn't listen payed for it with their lives. No, she held no love, nor even respect, for this beetle of a man.

She entered the potions classroom to find it empty, and took a seat in the front and center. If she wanted to glean ingredients and other freebies off him, it was best to play the perfect teachers pet. It was him, after all, who had given Riddle the information on Horcruxes. He was a fountain of knowledge she planned to drain to a desert... Perhaps literally. A simple _obliviate_, and Riddle wouldn't know anything about multiple horcruxes. For that matter, what would happen if she obliviated Riddle instead? Would he be malleable then?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the introduction of the rest of the class into the classroom. Thus far, only Slytherin's had arrived, which didn't surprise Hermione in the least. It was a Gryffindor/Slytherin class, and none of the Gryffindor's would want to spend extra time in the potions classroom. And when Riddle slid into the seat next to her, she wasn't surprised either, though she was distinctly unpleased. He was the teacher's pet, too, and as such would take a seat front and center. Absently, she pondered who usually sat in her seat, but was glad they hadn't thought to challenge her for it. That would have been annoying, as she knew she could best everyone in this room, Riddle being a possible but unlikely exception.

Riddle nodded to her with a small 'genuine' smile, and began setting up his cauldron.

"Do you know what potion we are working on today? I've studied the book, but some teachers like to jump around, and I want to be prepared..." She began, preparing to ramble on indefinitely, sliding into her old Gryffindor bookworm role.

"No, he hasn't told us yet, but I'm sure you'll do fine." Riddle broke in quickly, sensing the impending rant.

"Oh, I don't know, I like potions but there are so many little things that could go wrong. Is he a good teacher? Or is it more of a teach yourself course?"

"He's pretty good, a bit overbearing. Don't worry about it." Riddle said, becoming slightly short. Hermione, who was beginning to enjoy this, opened her mouth for yet another barrage of words, only to be stopped by the arrival of Slughorn himself. _As if I needed any more reason to dislike that man,_ she thought dismally.

"Good morning students! If you will copy down the ingredients I have written on the board, then collect them from the stores..."

Diligently, Hermione wrote down the list of 23 ingredients before getting up with the rest of the class to collect them. When the class was seated again, Slughorn began his lecture.

"Now, as you all know, some of these ingredients are highly volatile, so you had best be on your guard! Today, your task is to create a more effective cure for the basic boils potion. Now, I know that it has yet to be perfected, don't worry- I want to test your forward thinking capacity. Consider it a pop quiz. The person with the best potion gets a quart of crystalized pineapple! You have two hours, good luck!"

The class groaned. The basic boils potion had a cure- it just took two hours to go into effect and left the person itching for well over five hours. _However,_ thought Hermione_, it had never been improved upon, not even during her time, more due to it's lack of necessity- after all the cure works- than the difficulty in improving it._

She lit the fire under her cauldron and began to chop up her shrivel fig. _Boils, what cures boils?_ She asked herself. Without thinking about it, she opened her textbook to the page where the traditional cure was found, and studied the instructions minutely. After a few minutes, she came to a realization. _Seven stirs counter clockwise... If I add a quarter turn counterclockwise halfway through... It would nullify the itching effect of the itching powder, while keeping the de-swelling properties intact! But what about the time lapse... _

The potion would take forty-five minutes to brew completely, and she had already wasted fifteen minutes of the two hours. Glancing around the potions room, she saw everyone else had the first steps of the standard potion complete, but no one seemed to have made any changes. The only exception to this was Riddle, who like her, hadn't begun brewing yet. _So, if I don't find a solution to the time lapse in the next ten minutes, I'll call it quits. _She ordered herself, knowing full well that it was possible she would forget the time, lost in her ruminations.

As it was, it took her only eight minutes to discover that adding the eye of beetle prior to the hippogriph hooves would reduce the reaction time to only a half hour. With that, she began furiously preparing ingredients, her hands a whirlwind of motion. She noted that Riddle was casting her curious glances, directed mainly at her hands. With an internal sigh, she slowed her motions to a more average speed. She shouldn't have forgotten that none of the people here had grown used to making potions in record time in an effort to save lives, so her fantastic speed stood out far too much. At this pace, the potion would take just over an hour, still faster than the instructions implied was feasible, but reasonably closer to it. Riddle was still giving her odd glances.

"Yes?" Hermione asked irritably. Speaking slowed her potion making, as it required the brain to focus on three things at once, rather than the two generally associated with potion making.

"Its just, you're supposed to add the hooves first... And I don't recall beetle eyes being an ingredient..." He said, politely adding in a bit of disbelief, trying to imply that he thought she wouldn't make such a mistake. It didn't work on her, though.

"Oh, oh my, you're right. I guess I'll just see what happens then!" Hermione replied, forcing her tone into a bubbly replica of Lavender Brown's. Riddle looked at her askance, silently questioning her sanity. Well, thats what Hermione knew he was doing. To the rest of the class, he looked politely interested.

"Yes, I suppose we will." He said evenly, turning back to his own potion, which looked remarkably similar to hers, noted Hermione. He had, however, opted for newts eyes over the beetles, if the mess on his cutting board was to be believed.

At the two hour mark, Slughorn called the students attention.

"Times up everyone! Bottle you're potion and label it, then put it in this cabinet over here," He said with a flourish that probably gestured towards the leftmost cabinet, "next lesson, I will test each of the potions by transfiguring boils on each of your hands." The class narrowed their focus on him, and he seemed to sense their unwillingness. "No need to worry, it won't be permanent- if none of the potions act as intended I will reverse the spell! Now, on your way to your next class!"

Hermione raised her eyebrows faintly before nodding to Riddle and placing her potion in the cabinet, and walking out of the room. She was unprepared to find Riddle following after her.

"I'm surprised you didn't blow up the room, its dangerous just throwing ingredients in that way." He stated, pretending to absently rub his prefect badge and looking at his feet, as though he regretted having to say it to her.

"I'm not." Hermione answered without sparing him so much as a look. "I am capable of remembering the effects of the ingredients and how they react to each other, Riddle."

With that, she walked away. Again.

A/N: Thank you for reading and reviewing :)


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six: Finding the Chamber

_I can't believe she just walked away. Again._ No one- especially no girls- ever did that, not to Perfect Prefect Tom Riddle. He hadn't invented that title, his fan girls had, his own self made title sounded much more... well, everything, really. No one wants to go through life known as 'Perfect Prefect', even if it is meant worshipfully. No, Voldemort- a rather clever anagram, if he does say so himself- Lord Voldemort, wins by a landslide. This name evokes not only worship, but fear, and implies not simple perfection, but power.

_Now, where was I? Oh, right, Franklin. _She actually had the audacity to claim that she knew what she was doing. As if. She probably just got lucky, and then tried to show off. No one knew the properties of hippogriph hooves well enough to guess accurately as to their reactions, which was why he hadn't dared change anything about their original instructions.

Having come to this conclusion, he began his walk to the second floor girls bathroom. He just knew there was something off about it, all of his detection spells pointed to their being dark magic within it. Owing to it being broad daylight and his physiology, he had to content himself with merely walking past it rather than entering. As he passed, he saw Myrtle barge past him and through the doorway, sniffling loudly. He had time to think 'perfect' before going to the door.

"Myrtle? Are you okay?"

"No I'm not. Now go away!" She shriek in that shrill, 'I'm crying and I don't want you to know about it' way that all girls seemed to know instinctively. He mentally shrugged his shoulders.

"And leave you, when you just told me you aren't okay? What kind of gentleman would that make me?" He could practically hear her blushing, no doubt wondering why he of all people had finally taken notice of her.

"I...I don't know." The hostility in her voice had all but vanished. Perfect.

"A very rude one." He answered for her. "Now, how about you tell me what's wrong?" He said it in his kindest, most caring tone, before stepping through the doorway.

Myrtle was on the far end of the sinks, which were very elegant for a simple bathroom, he noted. They were circular and rose up in a column to the ceiling, reminding him of the pictures of ancient rome he had seen in one of the history books in the library. The rest of the bathroom was duller, more normal. There were eight stalls, just normal, everyday ones, and a large opening around the sinks. Though he had no basis for comparison, he didn't believe that this was normal for a girls bathroom. He would have to find that out, somehow. Myrtle looked up as he made another small step towards her.

"You're not supposed to be in here, you know." She told him, though by the look in her eyes it was out of obligation, not will.

"Yes, I do know. But I also know that you are worth more than a few house points." He smiled at her, and she all but fainted. A red blush rose in her cheeks, her eyes shown despite the tears, and he could have sworn she saw her legs wobble for a moment. A giggle escaped her mouth. It was all he could do to keep his disgust off his face. _Filthy mudblood. You aren't worth the air you're breathing._ He thought, while imagining trying out a few of his new curses on her. His next smile was far more genuine.

"Its just... Olive Hornby was making fun of my glasses again... And..." She disolved into a new fit of tears. Tom moved so he stood directly in front of her, and grasped her chin -don't think about it just do it, he told himself- raising her eyes to his, and plastering on a concerned frown.

"Listen, Myrtle, Ms. Hornby doesn't know what she's talking about. Your glasses look just fine," He began, tapping the aforementioned glasses with a steady finger, "They bring out your eyes," (yes, he thought, they make you look bug-like) "And," He finished, with a gesture to her robes, "you are a Ravenclaw. These glasses give you the look of someone intelligent. It is hardly your fault that Ms. Hornby isn't smart enough to realize that."

The look in Myrtle's eyes told him he had just won himself another mindless follower. He patted her consolingly on the shoulder as he studied the sinks in the restroom.

"Thank you, Tom." She said, whispering his name as though she was trespassing upon it. Which she was, reasoned Tom, though he wouldn't come out and say it quite yet. No, revenge was a dish best served cold. As he imagined various ways to get her back for his having to comfort a mudblood-one who dared say his first name- his gaze alighted upon a snake shaped emblem on one of the handles of the sink he stood near. He just managed to not break out into a crazy smile, but it was a close thing.

With one final pat upon Myrtles back, he made his way to the door of the restroom, and ran smack into the Franklin girl.

"Riddle, what are you doing in there?" She exclaimed, her eyes wide in shock, "That's a girls bathroom!"

He had to recall his latest curse- a truly innovative invention that caused the victim to have all of their bones rotate in their sockets, resulting in a mangled mess of blood and guts internally while externally appearing the same- to stop himself from cursing at her.

"I am well aware of that, Ms. Franklin. I was merely checking on the welfare of one of the students in our year." Cool and polite, without being hostile. Franklin's dark brown eyes accosted his, and he felt as though she was seeing into his very soul. For the first time in a long time, he dropped his gaze first. In doing so, he missed the smirk cross Hermione's face, and only saw the sympathetic look she replaced it with a split second later.

"Oh, well, alright then Riddle. I'm sorry I accused you." Her tone, while not worshipful, was gratifyingly subservient. He smiled a little more broadly and channeled his non existent inner Dumbledore.

"It's fine, Franklin. We all make mistakes." For a second, he wished he could call up that dratted twinkle. He had a feeling Franklin would fall for it in seconds.

"Call me Hermione, please." She whispered in his ear as she passed him and made her way into the bathroom. Her hand had grazed his arm, slightly, before all contact was lost and he heard the muffled sounds of speech behind him as he exited the girl's room.

On second thought, maybe he didn't need the twinkle.

Quickly tuning the girls out, he turned his mind back to the puzzle of the snake. The emblem had been elegant, jeweled jade eyes gazing outward, a coiled form where each scale was outlined in detail, it looked like it could have come alive at any moment. More important was the shape the snake coiled into. Its head was far off to the right, its body winding into a depiction of the letter S. S for Salazar, S for Slytherin. He tore off in the direction of the library, deciding that his stomach would survive without lunch for a day.

Once among the stacks in the largest library Riddle had ever entered, he made a beeline for the section on Hogwarts, and reverently pulled out one of his favorite tomes. Stroking the binding, he edged back to his corner of the library, a hidden nook with a bright window overlooking the grounds. It was ideal for his purposes, as he was not easily spotted from any vantage point and so could read books of a dubious nature, and the window kept most couples from trying to use the nook as a make-out corner. Well, the window, or his less than pleased reactions to finding them there. It didn't really matter, and the window provided the extra light necessary for many of the aged tomes he preferred to read.

Without bothering to glance around the rest of the library, Tom opened Hogwarts, A History to the first chapter, where it explained the tale of the founders, skimming until he found the specific paragraph he was looking for.

"_Each of the founders left something of themselves in the school, though like most things worth finding, they are well hidden- if they even exist. The sword of Godric Gryffindor is said to have been left somewhere within the school, and will come only to those who act with great courage and have need of it. However, it has been over a thousand years, and despite the terrors that have plagued the school on occasion- a Banshee attack in 1543, a Dementor attack in 1715 where three students were lost, and a rogue chimera in 1856- no one has managed to procure the sword. Rowena Ravenclaw is said to have created a Diadem which will impart the wearer with wisdom greater than any before. This has been lost, perhaps before Rowena even passed on, but was intended for the school none the less. Helga Hufflepuff's Room, known as the Come and Go Room, or the Room of Requirement, is also lost to history, though many still search for it. The room is said to give the user whatever he or she most needs at the time of the finding, but there is no solid evidence for it's existence. Finally, and even more mysterious, is Salazar Slytherin's parting shot- yes, shot, not gift. There is rumored to be a Chamber of Secrets, hidden in the depths of Hogwarts which only Salzar's true heir could find, and open. Within this chamber, Salazar claimed, lies a 'great beast' made to 'slaughter the unworthy pestilence within our walls.' Many believe this slur was directed towards muggle-born witches and wizards, and many a wishful Dark Lord has hunted the castle to find the Chamber, though none have been successful." _

The Chamber of Secrets... It seemed possible. But why had no one been able to open it? Riddle knew it was unlikely that he was the first in over a thousand years to discover the emblem on the sink. At the very least a few girl's must have made note of it, particularly those in Slytherin.

The answer hit him rather like a truck, not that he would admit to using muggle sayings. Salazar Slytherin had been a parselmouth, and the only way parselmouths could be created was through ancestry- so the only person who had the talent to open the Chamber of Secrets would be someone of his line.

It also meant that he, Tom Riddle, was a descendent of Slytherin himself. A flood of power, of intense strength mingled with relief flooded through Tom. He wasn't just some half-blood, accepted because of his magical prowess and his intellect. No, he was a part of wizarding history- a very important part. And, he reasoned, I will only become more so with time.

It was then and there, in his little nook in the corner of a very large, to his eyes beautiful library, that Tom Marvolo Riddle admitted something to himself.

_ I want to see everyone bow to me, and only me. I want to be the most important part of history ever spoken of. I want to rule the world._

Had anyone heard his proclamation, they would have dismissed it as the foolish wishing of a child. Only one person knew that it was to be taken seriously, and she was no where near the library, so Riddle's newfound understanding went on unnoticed.

Ms. Tyrell continued sorting books in the Magical Theories section of the library. Jonathan Weasly and Olive Hornby continued to make out in the dark, northeastern corner that they claimed as theirs every break they had together, and a few they didn't. Minerva McGonagall studied her transfiguration notes, determined to prove to her professor that she would be a worthy apprentice.

In other words, the entire world had changed, and no one bothered to notice.

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews, they really help keep me going :)


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: The Neglected Characters

Professor Albus Percival Wolfric Brian Dumbledore was not at all surprised when 'that insufferable new girl' ended up in Salazar's house. He had never met a more Slytherin girl than she, and he had to admit -if grudgingly- that she could go places with that brain of hers. What did surprise him was that after several years without any schooling, she showed up to his transfiguration class and scored perfectly on a pop quiz she wasn't there to learn the answers for. Hermione Franklin had walked through the door laughing with Abraxas Malfoy over something about potions and boils. He would have to remember to ask Horace. Then she had taken a seat in the back of the classroom, beside Alphard Black, and directly behind Tom Riddle and Abraxas.

Dumbledore had waited two minutes after the bell rang to call the class to attention.

"Good afternoon, my dears! Today, I would ask that you put away your quills, we will be having a practical exam on inanimate to animal transfiguration. You can summon one of the chalices upon my desk to yourself, and transfigure it into any animal you wish, so long as it fit's upon your desk. If you do not have anything by the end of the period, you will receive a zero for the day, and the faster you complete your task, the more points will be awarded."

He had seen Ms. Franklin raise an eyebrow, questioning if she was included in the test, and the fire in her eyes when he had nodded an affirmative. Her wand had flicked in the direction of his desk, and a silver chalice flew towards her desk, but her lips hadn't moved. _Nonverbal spells?_ He had wondered incredulously, before dismissing it as a fluke. Then he had sat behind his desk and picked up his newest book, _Convincing a Community,_ which was transfigured to look like _Advanced Transfigurational Theory and How it Applies to Arithmantic Principles. _He had of course read the latter text, but it was not quite as interesting as the former.

Barely a minute into his reading, he was interrupted by a breeze that ruffled the pages on his desk and caused him to raise his eyes to the class. There, he saw none other than Ms. Franklin , who was sitting at her desk with her hand raised.

"Yes, Ms. Franklin?" He had asked benevolently, a kindly twinkle in his eye. After all, it wouldn't due to have students see how easily annoyed he was by student's ignorance.

"I've finished, sir." The rest of the class looked up at that, even Riddle who usually refused to react to anything, and stared at her desk.

And indeed, when he had stood up to look more closely at her work, he had seen not a silver chalice, but a miniature Doberman running across her desk as it played fetch with a small ball of paper.

"Well done, Ms. Franklin. Full marks." She had smiled in a small, self satisfied way, before turning to her bag and picking out a large book without a title. Then, of course, Riddle had said he was done, and he couldn't pester her about the book.

Regret and discipline often run hand in hand. For, one who disciplines oneself by refusing to take a step off of their normal path, will forever live with the regret of never trying anything new. However, he who has no path, but jumps from circumstance to circumstance will also regret forgoing the safety of the single lane. There is a fine line between the two extremes- knowing when you're jumping off a cliff, and knowing when you're diving. Most people never learn the difference. Dumbledore liked to believe himself different from most people, and thus above falling for such paltry tricks. (He tended to ignore the whole Grindewald thing, and if he did look at it, he termed it a 'valuable character building experience'.)

So, when he saw the chance to corner the Slytherin girl- Hermione Franklin, he reminded himself, wouldn't due to show prejudice- he decided it would be a graceful dive that would result in his finally winning a hold over her and her secrets. He was sadly mistaken.

She had just entered an empty classroom on the fourth floor, though Dumbledore couldn't construe a reason for her being there. She was pacing the room, mumbling something under her breath, and in her moment of inattention Dumbledore stepped through the doorway and charmed the door shut.

"Hello, Ms. Franklin." He said, keeping his tone neutral. He was not overly surprised when less than a millisecond later her wand was at his throat, his wand arm pinned against his side.

"I thought I asked you not to come upon me unawares, sir." She tersely answered him, letting go his arm and lowering the wand so it pointed to his chest even as she backed away. "Is there something you want from me?"

"Why don't you take a seat, my dear. I believe we have much to discuss- things we have let sit far too long."

With a flourish, the Slytherin- Ms. Franklin- had created a cushy armchair in place of one of the desks, and sat down gracefully. She then gestured towards him with her wand, and he found himself seated in a chair very similar to hers, if slightly shorter.

"Thank you, my dear. Now, if you would be so kind as to answer a few questions?" Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair, taking on the posture of a keen listener. Hermione straightened nearly imperceptibly in response.

"That depends on the questions, sir. Some things are simply... Too painful... for me to recount as of yet." Her eyes had teared up, Dumbledore noted absently, not caring in the least, though he nodded sympathetically.

"I understand, my dear. But some things are more important than a single person. Now, you were injured when you arrived- by Grindewald?"

"By the most recent Dark Lord, yes." She was staring into her lap, as though searching for answers there.

"What do you know of him, of his tactics?"

"That he fights to win, sir." A short glance towards him- he dove into her eyes only to be forced out- before ducking her head down again. "And he fears you."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows slightly, wondering if she had ever talked to the man, or if that was only hearsay. "And he told you this himself?"

A flicker of amusement crossed her eyes. "No, Professor. He is too arrogant for such admittances. But why else has he yet to enter England? We both know he has the strength."

"Yes, yes." Dumbledore looked at the slight form in front of him, and reminded himself she could very easily be a spy. "How did you get here?"

"I managed to create a portkey, but I didn't have time to program a specific destination. I just wanted to get somewhere safe." He thought he saw a tear drop into her hands.

And there she went again, from battle hardened warrior to shy teenage girl- it made no sense! "And you had no contact with Grindewald?"

"None." Her eyes met his, shining out their honesty. He sent another probe, this time far more gentle, searching for cracks. "Some things are better off not known."

Dumbledore blinked. "What do you mean, my dear?" He reached down to pat her knee, sending a thread of compulsion out towards her simultaneously, and he felt her mind give way.

"Well, his torture methods for one. They are new, and very innovative. He has this serum- I don't know what it's called- and it makes you tell the truth no matter what. He also invented a bunch of new spells, well, I think it was him, it may have been a follower, to give pain like the Cruciatus but without the after effects..." She paused in her monologue, looking up at him, and he could see her wondering why she had told him so much. He tightened the compulsion.

"Why are you here?" The girl shifted in her seat, fidgeting with the seams on her cloak.

"To spy for Grindewald. He has my mom. He told me if I was good and sent him all the information I could on you, he wouldn't torture her so much. He said he might even keep her alive..." Again, she raised a puzzled brow, and he felt her fighting off the compulsion. But that just wouldn't do. He increased the strength even further.

"Have you sent him anything yet?"

"No, s-sir. I was waiting until the end of the month, when I was going t-to s-sneak into y-your office." And the compulsion broke. The instant before it did, he cast chains upon her chair and summoned her wand.

"Now, Ms. Franklin, I can't let you do that." His tone was hard, unforgiving.

"Please sir, its my mom! I-I can't let him... Sir!" He saw her eyes alight with a new fire. "What if I fed him false information? You could tell me little snipets of truth, and I could cover it up with lies, and he'd be none the wiser!"

"Now, why would I trust you to do such a thing, Ms. Franklin?"

"You... I... I would write the letter, and then bring it to you to read over and send it yourself, so you would know exactly what I wrote. And I would give you Grindewald's return mail. Please sir, if you make me leave... My mother... She's the last family I have, sir, I'll do anything." By the end, her voice was steel, the truth of the words outweighing the pain of having to say them. Dumbledore pretended to nod thoughtfully. He had finally gotten her to admit her intentions. He was pleased with her solution, knowing it gave him near insurmountable power over her. Power he desperately needed, judging by the girls magical strength. If she were to get a large enough group together- Riddle, Abraxas, and a few others, they could threaten his control on the ministry in a few years. He would not stand for that.

Looking at the tears trailing down her face, he would never have to. _You are mine,_ he thought. _Mine. _He knew well enough how to use grief and fear to drive her, to force her to do things she would have otherwise balked at. Starting now.

"I will require all of your memories of Grindewald, so I might view them in a pensieve." Her eyes were dull, as she nodded her consent.

"But sir, I never actually spoke with him, it was all through the... his followers." He noted the pause.

"What were you going to say, Ms. Franklin? 'All through the' what? If you do not speak the truth, I will have no choice but to send you to the dementors." She gulped audibly, and he saw her fingers twitch, before she opened her mouth again.

"He has this system, sir. It's hard to explain, really, but he calls it the "grapevine". He connects all of the torture chambers to it, and if he has a command for you, or an offer, it shows up in blood on your wall. One of the first things you learn is that it's written in your own blood- the pain is-was- excruciating. Sometimes, he would tell you what his followers had planned next for you, which variant of torture it would be that time, and the wait made it all the worse... Thats how I found out I was to be a spy, though, sir."

"I see. Can he hear the victims through this 'vine'?"

"No, sir. In order to respond, you have to wait until the torturers come, and ask them to write the response on the wall."

"Hmm. Then I require your memories of the wall, my dear. Now, if you please." The words themselves were kind, but he knew his tone would allow no argument.

"I don't have my wand, sir."

"Ah, yes, foolish of me." He reached out to her, now knowing that she did not have control of wandless magic. He flicked his own wand, and the chains left her body, vanishing into thin air.

"Thank you, sir." Then she raised the wand to her forehead and wisps of creamy white thought pooled around the wand. He made another wand motion, and Franklin flinched when the cold crystal of a memory container met her hand. In moments, the memories were locked up and in his hands, waiting for his perusal.

"Now, my dear, I'm afraid I can't let you leave without a trace on both you and your magic. We wouldn't want you slipping back into Grindewalds hands, now would we?" With a muttered incantation and a few flicks, Dumbledore ensured he would know her whereabouts every second of the day, and any charms she cast would appear in one of his instruments to be marked and stored for later perusal.

"No Professor." Still the dull, beaten voice.

With that he rose, vanished his chair, and gave her a fully twinkling smile.

"Thank you, my dear. You have made the right choice, coming to me."

Then he left the room, a bounce in his step and a grin on his lips.

Hermione, seconds later, did the same.


	8. Chapter 8

Hey guys! Thanks for reading! Also, this chapter is just the last chapter in Hermione's point of view.

Chapter 8: What Dumbledore Doesn't Know

She paced the empty classroom, muttering incoherent, nonsensical words under her breath, and waiting for the man of the hour to enter her humble abode. Just as she was beginning to consider adding quotations from the future Albus Dumbledore to her repertoire of mumbles, she heard the door slam shut. _Undoubtably locked. _She heard him speak her name, and spun to face him, smoothly disarming him within a second.

"I thought I asked you not to come upon me unawares, sir." An air of frigidity in her tone, ensuring that he thought he had indeed caught her unawares. Mentally, she scoffed. _As if. He would have to do much more than enter a classroom to catch me._ Still, she lowered her arms from him while keeping her wand pointed towards his chest, as though warning him not to move. Hermione, naturally, knew this to be a fruitless endeavor. He would not have entered the room were he unprepared for an attack. When he remained silent, she spoke again. "Is there something you want from me?" She knew she toed the line between disrespect born of anger and true disrespect with that statement, and she smiled inwardly as Dumbledore's mask dropped for a second before raising itself again.

"Why don't you take a seat, my dear. I believe we have much to discuss- things we have let sit far too long." There was a kindness in his voice, but his eyes were hard as steel.

Normally, Hermione would have been inclined to disagree. There was little to be said to this manipulator of worthless puppets in future, and now, when he did not even have most of said puppets, there should have been less. But she was in his domain, and her continued existence here was based off of his purported 'kindness', and the fact that the student body had seen her arrive. He saw that he had little power over her, and it irked him, she knew. So she would give him what he most wanted- a small piece of Ms. Franklin placed directly under his thumb. She would just have to be careful to make certain Dumbledore didn't remember that Hermione's real name wasn't Franklin.

In light of this, Hermione waved her wand and conjured two chairs, hers a deep red and his a light shade of blue. They both sat, Hermione demurely looking at her hands as though frightened of where this could lead, and Dumbledore leaning forward eager to catch the words from her mouth. When she still remained silent, he prompted her.

"Thank you, my dear. Now, if you would be so kind as to answer a few questions?" _And so the game begins,_ thought Hermione, thinking wistfully of a time when she could just hex him silent.

"That depends on the questions, sir. Some things are simply... Too painful... for me to recount as of yet." Forcing hot tears onto her face, she stole a glance at him as he nodded his head, no doubt feigning sympathy. His next words were softer than previous, but there was a hard edge to them, stating that he would not be kept waiting any longer.

"I understand, my dear. But some things are more important than a single person. Now, you were injured when you arrived- by Grindewald?"

Now was the time to dance around the truth, to look into his eyes and take down one of her occlumency shields, and allow him to legilimize her.

"By the most recent Dark Lord, yes." A glance to him, then back to her lap, having felt his probe hit the thought and accept it as true.

"What do you know of him, of his tactics?" She knew she had to be extremely careful here. History of Magic may have been her least favorite subject, but she knew enough-more than enough- about the current war to lead a force against Grindewald and win. Dumbledore couldn't be allowed to know that much, anymore than she would allow him to take credit for Grindewald's defeat again.

"That he fights to win, sir." When his eyes met hers again, she forced him out. He looked disgruntled, but didn't comment. _Time to lay the bait. _"And he fears you."

The twinkle in his eyes darkened for a moment, a small twist of his lips displaying his satisfaction, and she knew he had fallen for it, hook, line and sinker. He wouldn't admit it, not yet, he would feign caution, would ask questions, would bargain her down, but she had him.

"And he told you this himself?" He was staring at her intently, but had yet to attempt legillimency. _Good, he's learning._

"No, Professor. He is too arrogant for such admittances. But why else has he yet to enter England? We both know he has the strength." Hermione deliberately allowed a trace of humor to enter her mask, knowing it would make her look as though she were hiding some delicious piece of knowledge from him.

"Yes, yes. How did you get here?" His eyes were narrowed in suspicion, and she quickly reminded herself that it would be foolish of her to give away the game by smiling now.

"I managed to create a portkey, but I didn't have time to program a specific destination. I just wanted to get somewhere safe." If that wasn't a bald faced lie, Hermione didn't know what was. She had arrived here deliberately, setting the timeturner turned portkey to the exact time and place she needed. But she figured he'd be better off not knowing that part, and forced a few tears to escape their prison and run down the lines of her face.

"And you had no contact with Grindewald?" Inwardly, Hermione sighed. She had seen this question coming a mile away, as any student would, hardened warrior or not.

"None." She raised her eyes to his, and let her honesty shine through. "Some things are better of not known." She finished as he probed at her defenses while she pretended not to notice anything. The sentence did as she hoped- the air of mystique forced him out of her mind so he could continue his interrogation.

"What do you mean, my dear?" He reached down to pat her knee, sending a thread of compulsion out towards her simultaneously, and Hermione deflected it while allowing her eyes to take on the glazed look of one under such a compulsion. Her shoulders slumped slightly, and her hands, which had been curled tightly around each other, loosened their holds. Dumbledore was a fool to believe she would fall so easily after evading all of his prior compulsions, but she could see he put greater stock in his own talents than his abilities merited. He leaned forward, eagerly awaiting the answer to his question.

"Well, his torture methods for one. They are new, and very innovative. He has this serum- I don't know what it's called- and it makes you tell the truth no matter what. He also invented a bunch of new spells, well, I think it was him, it may have been a follower, to give pain like the Cruciatus but without the after effects..." She paused in her monologue, looking up at him, feigned slight shock, that such a truthful answer had escaped her lips. Hermione felt another thread of compulsion weave its way towards her and deflected it effortlessly, even as she strengthened the glazed look in her eyes. He smiled in satisfaction, and asked yet another question.

"Why are you here?" _There it was_, she thought,_ time to fold Ms. Franklin's cards._

"To spy for Grindewald. He has my mom. He told me if I was good and sent him all the information I could on you, he wouldn't torture her so much. He said he might even keep her alive..." She let her eyes shine through the glaze, and again the compulsion was strengthened. _If nothing else, _Hermione thought,_ Dumbledore was consistent. _

She had thought hard on what cover story to use for her identity, and had decided that reluctant spy would serve her purposes best. This way, she could give Dumbledore a hold on her that didn't actually exist. He, believing he had found out her deepest secrets, would cease following her around, placing listening spells on her dormitory, and the myriad other annoying habits he had directed towards her. It also allowed her access to Dumbledore's office, whenever she had a 'letter' from Grindewald, giving her the opportunity to study his wards and work out how to dissemble them so she could 'borrow' a few of his more interesting books. It was a win win, really. His response to her cover was less than exciting, unfortunately. It seemed that his need to appear in control of every situation kept his masks firmly in place, even upon discovering a spy within his mist. Unfortunately, she didn't have time to consider what a shame this was before he asked his next question.

"Have you sent him anything yet?" A good question for him to ask, Hermione admitted grudgingly, if she had actually been a spy. As it was the answer was fairly obvious.

"No, s-sir. I was waiting until the end of the month, when I was going t-to s-sneak into y-your office." An interestingly effective strategy, or so Hermione had found, was to tell your enemy exactly what you were going to do, phrase it as a past tense, and watch as they immediately assumed you wouldn't do it in the future. By the way Dumbledore stared at her, she knew that he would fall for it- much as he had 60 years in the future. _Time for the next step_, thought Hermione. She feigned fighting off the compulsion- twitching her fingers and stuttering incessantly- and the instant before she 'broke' it, she felt her wand being summoned, and chains formed around her wrists. Rather than stopping it, she let Dumbledore have the power (or at least the illusion of it), as he began his next words.

"Now, Ms. Franklin, I can't let you do that." His tone was hard, unforgiving.

"Please sir, its my mom! I-I can't let him... Sir!" She opened her eyes dramatically, widening them in a slight mockery of surprise she knew he wouldn't catch. "What if I fed him false information? You could tell me little snipets of truth, and I could cover it up with lies, and he'd be none the wiser!" He hid it fairly well, but Hermione could see the excitement hovering behind his blue eyes.

"Now, why would I trust you to do such a thing, Ms. Franklin?" It took a huge effort of will not to roll her eyes at the statement. The man was purportedly a genius- he could see quite clearly what the merits of such a plan would be for him in his quest for dominance.

"You... I... I would write the letter, and then bring it to you to read over and send it yourself, so you would know exactly what I wrote. And I would give you Grindewald's return mail. Please sir, if you make me leave... My mother... She's the last family I have, sir, I'll do anything." Her capitulation was the beginning of what could be a very uneven partnership for the two of them. After all, she would get access to one of the greatest minds of this time's library, and he would get false information on Grindewald, but Hermione saw no reason to enlighten the man. He had planned on forcing Ms. Franklin to capitulate to his demands, and had the story been true they would have been even less fair than Hermione's own.

"I will require all of your memories of Grindewald, so I might view them in a pensieve." She dulled her eyes as she nodded her consent. _Let him think me broken._

"But sir, I never actually spoke with him, it was all through the... his followers." The pause was deliberate. She needed to create false memories from her true memories of being captured under Voldemort's power, and to do so, she had to copy a few of Voldemort's more novel torture methods.

"What were you going to say, Ms. Franklin? 'All through the' what? If you do not speak the truth, I will have no choice but to send you to the dementors." A forced gulp, and a twitch of her fingers- as though this was something she hated to talk about- then a short nod, as Ms. Franklin again capitulated to Dumbledore.

"He has this system, sir. It's hard to explain, really, but he calls it the "grapevine". He connects all of the torture chambers to it, and if he has a command for you, or an offer, it shows up in blood on your wall. One of the first things you learn is that it's written in your own blood- the pain is-was- excruciating. Sometimes, he would tell you what his followers had planned next for you, which variant of torture it would be that time, and the wait made it all the worse... Thats how I found out I was to be a spy, though, sir."

In truth, Grindewald used an earlier method of this system- Voldemort had based the method off of Grindewald's- but Dumbledore had no means of figuring that out, and her memories would be the more realistic for it.

"I see. Can he hear the victims through this 'vine'?" Ever the scholar, Dumbledore, Hermione noted somewhere in the back of her mind. He had to know everything about everything.

"No, sir. In order to respond, you have to wait until the torturers come, and ask them to write the response on the wall."

"Hmm. Then I require your memories of the wall, my dear. Now, if you please." The words themselves were kind, his tone would allow no argument.

"I don't have my wand, sir." No point in disabusing him of the notion that she needed a wand for this, and it would let her make the memories a little clearer while he vanished the chains and returned her wand to her.

"Thank you, sir." Then she raised the wand to her forehead and wisps of creamy white thought pooled around the wand. Dumbledore made a wand motion, and Hermione flinched slightly when the cold crystal of a memory container met her hand. In moments, the falsified memories were locked up and in Dumbledore's hands, waiting for his perusal.

"Now, my dear, I'm afraid I can't let you leave without a trace on both you and your magic. We wouldn't want you slipping back into Grindewalds hands, now would we?" While Dumbledore murmured the incantations over her, she smirked a bit on the inside. He had made two insurmountable mistakes. The first was alerting her to the existence of such charms before placing them upon her, and the second was not checking to see if she had taken protective measures against such charms, which she did. Nevertheless, she only nodded her head and spoke in that dull, defeated tone he expected of her.

"No Professor."

With that he rose, vanished his chair, and gave her a fully twinkling smile.

"Thank you, my dear. You have made the right choice, coming to me."

Then he left the room, a bounce in his step and a grin on his lips.

Hermione, seconds later, did the same.

A/N: Hello everyone :) I hope the whole Grindewald thing makes sense now, if not just PM me an I'll try to explain it further. Thanks for reading and please review!


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